


Vices

by solrosan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Discussion of drugs, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mycroft Has An Eating Disorder, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Being a Good Brother, discussion of eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 07:57:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solrosan/pseuds/solrosan
Summary: About a month after the events ofThe Final ProblemSherlock visits Mycroft's office, because he knows that there are worse things in the world than a meddling brother.





	Vices

”There are days I think about nothing but heroin.”

Mycroft looked up from his work. Sherlock had been sitting opposite him in his office for about fifteen minutes, just typing on his mobile. Now he was looking straight at his brother, his face neutral and the phone put away.

“The smell when I heat it up on a spoon over a lighter,” Sherlock continued, “or over the burner in my kitchen – did you know I have a watch glass especially for heroin? I’ve marked it with a bit of Mrs Hudson’s nail polish. Coral pink.”

Mycroft frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because… because there are days I think about nothing but heroin. Because it’s easy. Heroin is easy. Getting it. Preparing it. Using it. It’s easy. The world narrows down to one thing. Everything else—” Sherlock waved his hand at nothing in particular “—goes away. Not just when I’m high. It becomes everything.”

“If you want to, I can make a phone call to the same clinic as before.”

“I’m all right, that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“You’ve lost seven pounds since I confronted you about Eurus, and that’s not from exercise,” said Sherlock. “So how’s the _diet_?”

Mycroft frowned again, deeper this time. Sherlock kept his gaze, sternly.

“Five pounds,” Mycroft finally muttered; a small admission to what Sherlock clearly already knew. 

Sherlock looked him over and, if physically possible, shrugged with his eyebrows. “That’s still more than one pound per week.”

“That’s your point?”

“No, my point is…” Sherlock sighed and started over. “My point is, that I know – I understand – how it is to spend days thinking about that one thing when everything else is a mess. Or because everything’s a mess. I know the temptation of having just _one thing_ to really focus on. How easy it is to just…” 

Sherlock made another vague gesture with his hand as if he released something to the wind. The silence stretched, until Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose.

“How are you?” Sherlock asked.

“I’m fine.”

“I realise that my vice is deadlier than yours, but you can’t expect—“

“Sherlock.” Mycroft raised his eyebrows, and Sherlock became instantly quiet. “Please?”

“Fine.”

“Anything else?”

“No, I suppose not,” said Sherlock. He got up from the chair and put on his coat as he crossed the room. When he got to the door, he stopped and turned around again. “You can talk. To me. About this. That’s my point.” Sherlock paused, and then continued more calmly. “If you want to, you can talk to me. That’s what I came to say.”

“I have it under control, Sherlock.”

“As do I.”

Mycroft sighed. “Point taken.”

“There are worse things than a meddling brother.” 

Mycroft smiled faintly. 

“I doubt I can be of much practical help, but—“ 

“I don’t need help.”

“Well, I still need the tools,” said Sherlock, his voice slightly raised. “I make lists. That’s for you. Not for me. Even the time I didn’t overdose by accident I still made it. Because I know meddling is a compulsion of yours. I need some tools to be able to help in case you need me to and right now I have nothing.”

Mycroft blinked. 

“I could always drag you off to a clinic somewhere,” said Sherlock. “You seem very fond of that – at least when you’re the one doing the dragging.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I hope so.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I am serious when I say you can talk to me, Mycroft. Heroin and food are different things, but I understand better than you think.”

“Thank you,” said Mycroft, and then, after a moment of thought he asked, “How long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected it since Christmas break my second year at uni — last Christmas we went to see Grandpa.”

“You were _high_ that entire week, if I remember correctly.”

“Probably. I was high for most of that semester, so I wasn’t sure until years later but I’ve known for a long time. Did you really think you were good enough to hide this from me?”

“Mostly I thought you didn’t care enough to look.”

Something around Sherlock’s mouth tightened and there was another stretch of silence. Sherlock cleared his throat.

“Do you want to fake phone call to get out of this conversation or should I?” he asked.

“Be my guest,” said Mycroft with a small hand gesture.

Sherlock didn’t get out his phone. He just nodded and left without another word. As the door closed, Mycroft leaned against the desk, hiding his face in his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> I've spent so much of my time in fandom arguing against the idea of Mycroft having an eating disorder that I feel like I have to say that I still don't think he does, even after writing this. I have, however, a much easier time seeing it after s04 than before and I wanted to poke around a little with those ideas.


End file.
